


burnt grilled cheese

by carefulren



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sickfic, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, Whumpfic, self-sacrificing idiot, with his brothers who actually do care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: “Grayson? Are you burning the grilled cheese?”“Don’t be a dick, Damian.”“Both of you shut the hell up.”The voices are faint, and Dick wants to ponder on why Jason sounds worried. Jason doesn’t do worried; that’s Bruce’s and Dick’s jobs. He very slowly turns around to see Jason walking toward him, and when he opens his mouth, his vision chooses that exact time to black out.(the one where Dick doesn't think his well-being is important, and his brothers disagree)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 188





	burnt grilled cheese

The situation, Dick thinks, is overwhelmingly less than ideal. He’s due at the manor in an hour, and yet the thermometer reading, 101.4 degrees Fahrenheit, is flashing red across his vision, a physical testament to the headache drumming across his temples.

His schedule, as it has been for the last few months, is packed. Now that he’s mending and strengthening his relationships with his brothers, he’s keeping himself actively involved in their lives, and thus, he’s near-constantly busy.

Today, he promised Damian he’d spar with him in the morning, then he’s due to work with Tim on some advanced science project for his advanced biology course, and then Jason, begrudgingly, agreed to a late lunch that Dick will be cooking for everyone at the manor, seizing the opportunity to utilize so the full kitchen without Alfred and Bruce breathing down his neck.

Relastically, he should cancel. He knows this; however, his commitment to his brothers means more than the fever pressing warm against his cheeks right now, so he turns the thermometer off and snags his jacket and bag, leaving his apartment, and hopefully, the knowledge of his ailments at his back.

***

Even just pulling his car into the cave, he can tell the manor’s buzzing with activity, and he parks beside Jason’s bike, sporting a curious gaze at it. Jason mentioned he wouldn’t be over until later, right before lunch essentially, citing he had “business” to tend to beforehand. At the time, Dick didn’t want to ask and still doesn’t want to ask now. Besides, he’s not sure his head can even properly wrap around Jason’s “business,” not with the now pounding that’s stretching out across his forehead.

He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, frowning at the faint drops of sweat, and takes a few moments to breathe deeply, willing his heart to ease up some of the rabbit’s foot racing. His breathing, however, goes interrupted when Damian bangs on his window, already geared up and ready to spar.

“Are you going to sit in there all day, Grayson?”

Dick plasters on a practiced smile, one he can manifest to be naturally radiant, and he slips out of the car, dropping his hand atop Damian’s head and ruffling his hair. “Sorry, Little D. You’re sparring in full gear?” He eyes the Robin costume fitted on Damian, and Damian nods tightly.

“Of course. Father says I should always spar in my suit to ensure I know exactly how my body’s able to move within it.”

Dick’s heard this one before, and he can’t help but roll his eyes. “Right, well, believe it or not,” he pauses, reaching for his bag in his backseat, I’ve only got sweats and a tank.” He waves the bag in front of Damian’s face, smiling almost impishly. “Unfortunately for you, that’s all I need.”

Damian scoffs, whipping sharply on his heel and starting toward the manor’s large sparring arena, and Dick laughs, his smile only faltering when he’s sure Damian’s no longer in sight. He slips to the changing rooms, locking the door behind him and sagging against it, his bag falling to the floor. It’s occurred to him, just now of all times, that in his rush to disregard his own well-being in favor of his brothers’, he completely forgot to actually take anything to alleviate the fever. The changing room’s not stocked since med-bay’s close by, and Dick’s sure he won’t manage to sneak into medical without Damian seeing.

Instead, he hunches over a sink, splashing cold water over his face, the feeling odd as it eases the heat coating his face but brings a mute chill down his spine. Shuddering lightly, he changes from his jeans to his sweats, and he tugs his GCPD shirt off, slipping his tank on and rubbing lightly at his bare arms as he starts out of the room.

Damian’s already center of the mat when Dick walks in, and Dick pulls his arms into long stretches and shakes out his limbs as he walks forward, planting himself in front of Damian.

“Ready?”

“Are you?” Damian spits out, eyes narrow behind his domino.

“Show me what you’ve got, Robin.”

Dick’s quick on feet, effortlessly dodging Damian’s fists swinging at him, the batarangs flying toward him. When he catches on between two fingers, a cocky smile playing on his lips, Damian comes at him harder, stronger, really putting what he’s learned from Bruce on display. Dick can still keep up, he can still pin Damian within each cycle, but his headache, that he’s forced to the back of his mind, is blooming centerfold, tugging at his attention enough for Damian to sneak in a leg swipe, promptly knocking Dick on his back.

In seconds, Damian’s atop him, a knife pressed to his throat, and Dick raises both hands. “I cave.” Dick smiles, his chest heaving, lungs desperate to suck in air, and Damian flips off of him, frowning.

“What’s wrong with you? You aren’t normally winded this early in.”

Dick climbs to his feet, a groan threatening to creep up his throat, and then he moves, catching Damian off guard and knocking him square in the chest. Damian falls back, and now Dick’s pinning him. “No distractions, Little D.”

“Ugh,” Damian growls, shoving Dick off him. “You’re hot and sweaty, and you aren’t playing fair.”

“Playing,” Dick parrots back, and though his muscles are aching deeply, he pushes himself back to his feet, a tight smile teasing at his lips. “Since when is this playing?”

***

By the time Dick and Damian finish, roughly two hours later, Dick’s muscles are shaking with each step. He only just managed to change back into his jeans and shirt without toppling over, his sparring clothes now drenched in sweat, and now, on his way to Tim’s room, he’s shivering slightly, the lingering sweat against his skin now properly chilling him.

He rubs at his forehead, sighing deeply, but when he reaches Tim’s door, he smooths out his features and wills his body to stop trembling. He knocks even though the door’s ajar.

“Come in.”

Dick makes to push the door opening, pausing when Tim adds, “unless it’s you Damian. If that’s the case, go the hell away.”

Dick breathes through a low laugh and slips inside. “Friend?” he asks, and Tim spares a glance from the supplies on his desk.

“Hey, Dick.”

“Hey, Little Wing,” Dick says, starting toward the desk. He eyes the supplies, but his foggy mind struggles to work through the project based on what’s littered across the desk. “What do we have going on here?”

Tim explains as Dick drops down into the chair across from Tim, but Dick’s having a hard time following. He nods when appropriate, offers a few light hums, but his eyes can only blankly stare. He’s really beginning to feel the heat of the fever. It clings to his cheeks and drags down his neck, stopping just short of his collarbone, where the heat dissapates to an uncomfortable sheet of ice atop his muscles. His jaw is clenched tight to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Dick?”

“Huh?” Dick blinks slowly, and Tim’s frowning at him.

“Did you... are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, of course.” Dick smiles easily, and he can visibly see some of the tension taut against Tim’s face fade. He picks up up something, twisting it around in front his his eyes. “So this thing needs to attach to...” he pauses, pointing, “that thing via... science?”

Tim huffs loudly, rolling his eyes. “You know, Bruce always raves about how smart you are, but there’s not a day that goes by where I wonder if he’s delusional.”

Dick clutches dramatically at his chest, and he purses his lips into a pout. “I’m hurt, Little Wing! I’ll have you know I was top of my class.”

“Then prove it,” Tim challenges, lips pulled into a flat, almost bored, line that contradicts the faint hint of fire in his eyes.

For the second time, Dick slots the headache, the fever, far into the back of his mind, instead hunching over and forcing his ears to send comprehensive sentences to his mind as he begins to work while Tim talks.

***

By the time Dick’s planted in front of the stove, he’s sure his fever’s spiking. The heat billowing up from the stovetop seems to skin into his face, mixing with the hot pressure of illness, and yet the rest of him, down to his toes, his positively freezing. He swipes the back of his hand against his forehead, his breaths coming out in hot puffs.

The others are talking behind him. Well, Damian and Tim are arguing, and Jason’s only chiming in to agree with one or the other. For a while, Dick was able to keep up, even offering his own input, but now, he can’t work his mind into multitasking, and right now, he needs to flip the grilled cheese.

He’s holding the spatula, but his vision’s starting to gray at the edges, a new development that’s currently capturing all of his focus. Second to that is the fact that he’s beginning to feel hot all over, to the point where his skin is prickling with sweat. The heat encompasses his vision, roars in his ears.

“Grayson? Are you burning the grilled cheese?”

“Don’t be a dick, Damian.”

“Both of you shut the hell up.”

The voices are faint, and Dick wants to ponder on why Jason sounds worried. Jason doesn’t do worried; that’s Bruce’s and Dick’s jobs. He very slowly turns around to see Jason walking toward him, and when he opens his mouth, his vision chooses that exact time to black out.

***

Dick comes to in slow waves, his mind immediately working through his surroundings without panic, as he’s been trained to do. He’s on the floor, and it’s cold, but the tile is familiar. And, he’s slumped against someone warm and broad. He thinks Bruce for a moment, but then there’s a voice that is definitely not Bruce speaking.

“Dick?”

It’s Jason, Dick easily supplies, and he sounds scared. Dick lifts his head and struggles to push himself away from Jason, swaying lightly despite being seated. “What happened?”

Jason’s eyes are narrow as they dart across Dick’s face. “You passed out.”

The three words are enough to bring Dick completely back to the present, and he whips his gaze to see Damian at the stove, trying to keep a fire from starting, and Tim tight against the doorway, arms crossed, worry clear across his face.

“Shit,” he mutters, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t think it would get this bad.”

“You didn’t think-”

“-Jason, don’t,” Tim cuts in. “You can yell at him later. Right now, he doesn’t need to be on the floor.”

Dick’s shaking, unsure of just when he got so cold, and his head’s throbbing like mad. He pulls his gaze back to Jason, and he must really look awful because Jason’s face twists from anger then back to concern, and he starts to his feet, dragging Dick with him.

Dick’s unsteady, his legs wobbling, and he leans heavily into Jason as he’s guided out of the kitchen and into one of the many living rooms, where Jason eases him gently onto a couch.

“Have you taken anything?”

Jason’s voice is tight, and Dick shakes his head, draping an arm across his eyes to ease the pain the light filtering in from the window adds to the pressure already in his head. He can hear the others busying themselves around him, and then he’s being eased upward by Jason and offered a pill by Damian. He takes it, accepting the water Jason’s got in his other hand, and then he’s back on his back. A blanket’s draped over him, and then after some hushed debate above him, another one is added, which he’s mutely thankful for.

He tries to tug the blanket over his face, to block out the light, but Jason stops him with a low growl of “don’t,” and shortly after, a cold, damp cloth is being draped across his forehead.

“Here, Jason.”

Dick squints at the thermometer being handed to Jason, and he frowns when Jason presses it to his ear.

“Jay-”

“If you say ‘I’m fine,’ I’m going to call Bruce and have him bring down the wrath of Batman on your ass a thousand times over.”

The thermometer beeps quickly, before Dick can defend himself, and then he’s blinking slowly at the 103.2 degree reading flashing at him.

“See? Not fine,” Jason grumbles, leaving his spot on the edge of the catch and starting himself into a pace across the room.

“Dick, why didn’t you say something?”

Dick drags his gaze to the ceiling and tries not feel too hurt by Tim’s quiet voice. “I didn’t think it was important,” he admits and Jason throws his hands up, exasperated.

“Of course you fucking didn’t. Your self-sacrificial bullshit really grates on my nerves, Dick.”

“Jason-”

“-no. Todd is right,” Damian interrupts, cutting Tim off. “Grayson, your well-being is just as important as ours, if not more so. If you’re unwell, you should say so and rest.”

“You sound like Alfred,” Dick groans, eyes squeezing shut and only opening once more when Tim twists the blinds shut. “I just...” he tries, sighing deeply. “We’ve been through so much,” he starts, sure he’s got all eyes on him, “and we still have a long way to go. I didn’t want to cancel today and miss being with you three because of a small fever.”

_“Small?”_

“Jason,” Tim sighs. “Dick, you know I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t mean it, but Damian is right. Everything today,” Tim pauses, gesturing around the room, “could have waited until you were better. We aren’t going anywhere.”

The thing is, that’s what Dick struggles to believe the most: that his family isn’t going anywhere. He suffered long through Jason’s first death, the pain was so deep it felt untouchable, and now he feels like he’s constantly chasing lost time, time that has the potential to be endlessly fragile.

“Ugh, stop,” Jason groans, and Dick whips a sharp gaze to him. “You have that stupid sad look on your face, and it’s annoying. You still wanna spend time with us, even though I personally think you should be hooked up in med-bay? Fine.” He pauses, turning to Tim, “Figure out something to watch. I’m going to try and salvage lunch.”

Jason storms out of the room before Dick can apologize, as he feels he needs to, and when he tries, Damian cuts him off by slapping at his legs so he can curl up on the end of the couch.

“Save it, Grayson. Just try not to be such an imbecile next time you have the plague, got it?”

“Once again,” Tim says, “I’m with Damian on this one.”

Dick smiles, the first genuinely real smile he’s mustered up all day. It’s tired, worn, and a little shaky, but it’s still real.

“I’ll try.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is unedited, so I'm sorry in advance for the potential grammar errors! (I just found out that I lost about 7k words of a fic I spent all last week working on, so my motivation is officially gone, lol)
> 
> Come say hi or drop a prompt off on tumblr! (@toosicktoocare)


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